


hopefully that doesn’t come back

by WreakingHavok



Category: Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Chica is the BEST DOGGO, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, I repeat, Nightmares, Panic Attack, Platonic Cuddling, falling asleep together is different than sleeping together, hes also really good at pulling words out of his butt, im Ace we will have none of the latter on my good Christian fanfiction, mark is the best friend, warning: panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 20:53:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15849162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WreakingHavok/pseuds/WreakingHavok
Summary: “It’ll be fun,” Mark had said, throwing a pillow and a blanket directly at Ethan’s face. “Like a sleepover.”“We’re grown men,” Ethan had giggled, and Mark had rolled his eyes, shutting off the light and pitching them into darkness.Now, Mark shifts in his sleep, not waking up. Now, Mark’s golden retriever perks up her ears from her sleep beside the couch, looking over at Ethan.Now, the clock on the screensaver reads 1:56 A.M., and Ethan Nestor wakes up screaming.Or,Ethan’s recurring nightmare that he had as a kid comes back as he’s staying the night at Mark’s house.





	hopefully that doesn’t come back

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh. I’ve wanted to write about this for so long. Who knows how good it is? Not me.
> 
> For those of you who don’t know, this fic is a reference to Ethan’s video “HAPPY HALLOWEEN! | Reading Your Comments #27” (https://youtu.be/vyXgZorP_Xk) in which he mentions a recurring dream he had as a kid. The title is a direct quote from Ethan after he finishes explaining the nightmare.
> 
> Trigger Warning: Panic Attack

Mark Fischbach is happily asleep.

He’s sprawled out on the couch, his computer lying abandoned on the floor below his hand, blanket tangled around his pajama-clad legs as he snores softly. The clock on the laptop screensaver blinks in and out of existence in the dark room, displaying 1:56 A.M. as proudly as any inanimate object can.

Mark’s golden retriever lies half-awake on the floor, head placed under his hand where he’d fallen asleep petting her.

On the adjacent couch to Mark’s lies Ethan Nestor, who is less happily asleep.

He’s curled up into the seam of the couch, face pressed into where the cushion meets the back, blanket discarded at his feet. His arms are wrapped around his body tightly; even as he sleeps, his breathing is erratic and every muscle in his body is tense, like he’s preparing to run.

The two are passed out after a long day, Ethan being too tired to drive himself back to his apartment at 1:00 in the morning and Mark being a gracious host, allowing him use of the couch.

“It’ll be fun,” Mark had said, throwing a pillow and a blanket directly at Ethan’s face. “Like a sleepover.”

“We’re grown men,” Ethan had giggled, and Mark had rolled his eyes, shutting off the light and pitching them into darkness.

Now, Mark shifts in his sleep, not waking up. Now, Mark’s golden retriever perks up her ears from her sleep beside the couch, looking over at Ethan.

Now, the clock on the screensaver reads 1:56 A.M., and Ethan Nestor wakes up screaming.

Ethan bolts upright, eyes squeezed shut and flailing backwards. What’s left of his bedding is tossed frantically aside as Ethan breathes in erratic breaths, his hands moving from around his middle to clamp over his ears.

Mark inhales quickly, awakened by Ethan’s howl and Chica barking, and he shoots up as fast as he can. Chica jumps up onto the couch beside Ethan, nosing her snout into the crook of his neck, whining in concern.

Ethan cracks his eyes open, breathing not slowing, but he relaxes a little at the sight of the familiar dog. In no time at all, Mark is there, kneeling down in front of him and scratching Chica’s head.

“Ethan?” Mark asks, voice deep and scratchy from sleep, concern bleeding through the grogginess as he slides on his glasses. “What’s wrong?”

Ethan opens his mouth, but he’s still shaking and breathing too fast to talk, so all that comes out is a high-pitched whine. Mark puts a hand on his friend’s knee, and Ethan flinches, hands jerking from his ears, halting nervously halfway to his lap.

“Slow down,” Mark says softly. “Don’t hyperventilate. Breathe with me,” he instructs, and Ethan does, in and out - in and out - Mark narrating his actions verbally as it’s too dark to see much of anything.

“Can you hear me?” Mark asks, once Ethan’s not in danger of passing out. There’s an edge of panic and uncertainty in his voice, but it’s clear he’s trying to mask it.

Ethan nods, mouth still open, but no words will come out.

“Do you want the lights on?” Mark asks, because it’s pretty clear that Ethan’s had a nightmare, and no one wants to stay in the dark after one of those. At Ethan’s erratic nod, he gets up and flicks the light switch, making the world flash white and causing both of them to hiss.

Once his eyes have adjusted, Mark walks back towards the couch where Ethan has clamped his hands back over his ears. He’s pulled his bony legs up to his chest, curling up to be as small as he can possibly get.

Mark sits beside him, nudging Chica to his other side, and when Ethan doesn’t flinch when Mark puts his arm around his shoulders, he moves his hand up and down Ethan’s arm reassuringly.

“What can I do?” Mark asks, softly.

“Talk,” Ethan stutters out, staring intently at the floor. “About anything. Please.” His voice swerves dangerously into a choked pitch that sounds so very wrong coming from Ethan’s throat.

“I can do that,” Mark says with a hint of pride, because he is the master at monologuing for long periods of time. “It’s gonna be okay, Ethan.”

Ethan rapidly blinks the moisture from his eyes and doesn’t respond.

“You’re at my house,” Mark says, deciding to start with that; Ethan looks a bit disoriented with his hair sticking up in all directions and his eyes wide, staring around the room uncomprehendingly. “It’s - uh, it’s 2:00 in the morning, and, oop-“ 

Chica plops her head down into Ethan’s lap, making the boy flinch, but he takes a deep breath and moves one hand down to pet her head. That’s good, Mark thinks, takes a deep breath, and continues.

Mark talks about absolutely nothing for twenty-seven minutes straight, going off on many, many tangents and changing subjects many, many times, all the while keeping a concerned eye and hand on Ethan. 

As time goes on, Ethan slowly uncovers his ears and starts exhaling small laughs at funny things Mark says, scratching behind Chica’s ears with more and more enthusiasm.

“The clock now reads 2:27,” Mark announces, as he’s been doing every minute since 2:00, and as he opens his mouth to start another sentence, Ethan startles him by clamping a hand over his mouth. 

“Okay,” he says softly, voice rough, letting his hand fall back to petting Chica. “You can stop now.”

“Oh, thank God,” Mark says with an exaggerated groan. Ethan’s answering smile is strained. There’s a short pause.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Mark says, tone shifting back to serious, “and then we’ll talk. Do you want something?”

Ethan nods, requesting a glass of water as well, and when Mark sits back down on the couch and hands Ethan his water, the laptop screen reads 2:31 A.M.

“So,” Mark says, taking a sip of water, letting out a pleased breath as it soothes his tired throat.

Ethan sighs, curling up around his glass. “‘S just a stupid nightmare I used to have when I was a kid. I talked about it in a video, once - around Halloween? I think?” 

Mark vaguely remembers that video, but nothing about the nightmare itself. He hums noncommittadly. “What was it about?”

“It’s - it doesn’t sound scary out loud,” Ethan mutters. “It sounds freaking stupid out loud.”

Mark shrugs. “I don’t think that any nightmare that sends you into a state of panic can be considered stupid,” he says casually. “It’s okay, Ethan.”

Ethan shrugs, pulling the blanket back over his shoulders. “I warned you,” he laughs humorlessly, and takes a deep breath like he’s steeling himself. “It starts in this, like - white room - well, it’s not even a room, it’s just white. Everything is white. There’s nothing there but me. And then there’s - there’s flowers -“

Ethan cuts himself off with a sardonic laugh, pointedly looking anywhere but Mark. “This - I’m sorry, I get worked up over the stupidest things, this isn’t even that -“

“Ah -“ Mark interrupts. “Stop. Stop the train, hold the horses, play the hold music.”

Ethan gives him a look, and Mark shakes his head. 

“Sorry, sorry. Okay. Listen,” Mark says, and Ethan looks at him with a gaze he can’t place. “You just had a panic attack in my living room. I don’t care how stupid you think the reason is - I’d like to hear why.”

Ethan swallows hard, nodding a couple times, and restarts his story. “There, uh. There are flowers that bloom, and out of those flowers bloom people, and they all just start walking towards me, slowly, and I can’t move. And they start talking, but it’s - I can’t understand what they’re saying, it’s gibberish. And as they walk towards me, more and more bloom, the voices get faster and faster and faster, and just as they reach out to touch me, I wake up.” Ethan inhales shakily, like he’s trying really hard not to cry.

“That sounds horrifying,” Mark says, and means it - brow furrowed as he tries to imagine the scene that feels like something from a horror movie.

“That’s not what makes me panic, though,” Ethan sniffs. “When I wake up, I -“ His voice breaks. “I can still hear the voices,” he says, and his voice is so small Mark can barely hear him. “They’re still there, and it’s like they’re still walking towards me, and it takes forever to get rid of them.”

There’s a silence as Mark processes everything. Ethan seems to take that as incredulity, because he straightens up, turning to face Mark, face twisted with a frightened expression. “That’s why I made you talk,” he says, louder. “I needed you to talk to me while I got the voices out of my head - that makes me sound crazy, I swear I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy -“

“Ethan,” Mark yelps, setting down his water and putting both hands on the boy’s shoulders. “I believe you. It’s a nightmare, everyone has those, you’re not crazy.”

Ethan exhales, visibly deflating. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing,” Mark says. “Ethan, that nightmare sounds absolutely creepy.”

Ethan nods, looking away from Mark, like he doesn’t believe it.

“And you don’t need to justify being scared - even if you think your nightmare was stupid, well. Everyone gets scared by stupid things.” Mark pauses, trying to get his point through. “I get scared by stupid things for a living. It’s okay to be scared, and honestly - I think you’re brave for dealing with this, even through childhood. I’d be spooked out of my mind if something like that happened to me.”

“Okay.” Ethan looks up, straight into Mark’s eyes, and Mark relaxes as he sees a hint of a smile playing around his lips. “I’m - I’m okay,” Ethan says hesitantly, at Mark’s gentle squeeze of his shoulder. “It - these things just hit me hard and then they blow over.”

“No problem,” Mark grins. “I relish any opportunity to monologue.”

Ethan laughs at that. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you so much.” There’s more gratitude behind those words than just for the events of this evening.

Mark pulls Ethan into a hug, careful of the water glasses between them. “You can call me anytime,” he murmurs into Ethan’s shoulder. 

“Even at, what - 2:50 in the morning?” Ethan’s fingers clench in Mark’s pajama shirt, and he buries his face into the crook of Mark’s neck.

“Especially at 2:50 in the morning,” Mark yawns.

After a few minutes of their awkward extended hug, Mark sets their water on the ground. He leans back on the couch, still holding onto Ethan, the result being Ethan sprawled out partially on top of him, both of their heads resting on Ethan’s pillow.

“Ow,” Ethan says sarcastically, adjusting his position to be more comfortable.

“Ow,” Mark grumbles back, already starting to fall asleep despite the lights still shining in his face. “Those lights are bright.”

“Yep,” Ethan agrees, shutting his eyes.

Ethan doesn’t get up to turn them off, and neither does Mark.

They fall asleep like that - blankets tangled irreversibly around them, lights on, abandoned water glasses on the floor dangerously near the laptop, and they sleep peacefully for a long time.

The clock reads 3:00 in the morning, and the lights flicker out as Chica figures out how to flip the light switch.


End file.
